Mycake
by SomeoneSarah
Summary: It's Mycroft's birthday, and he wants to celebrate with his one true love. I honestly don't know what posessed me to write this. One-shot. SLASH. Mycroft/Cake. Mycake.


Mycroft's hands are shaking. A cold sheen of sweat has settles on his brow and dampens the skin beneath his clothes. The British government has shed his usual suit and tie for a breathable, navy blue dress shirt and dark grey slacks. Tonight is special, and he wants to leave his work behind for a little while. Even his treasured black umbrella has been abandoned in the hall closet for this.

It is Mycroft's birthday, something he wouldn't have bothered with just a few years ago. Then, everything had changed, and now each year Mycroft makes it a point to celebrate in his favorite way. A candlelit dinner with the one he loves.

As he bustles about the ornate dining room, making sure everything is perfect and prepared, Mycroft finds himself thinking back to everything that had happened earlier. He had visited Mummy in the early morning, and she had welcomed him with a warm hug, a cup of tea and a present. It was a new watch, which he had deduced before the box was even in his hands. At work, Anthea had wished him a happy birthday but didn't make much fuss, choosing to keep the air between them light yet professional. Mycroft had been grateful for this, and thanked her with an hour-long break. Lestrade stopped by around lunchtime with a gift from the Yarders, a silver tie pin, and Mycroft had smiled and thanked him accordingly before presenting him with a case. Even Sherlock had rang to wish him a happy birthday, although from his brother's tone and the grumbling that seemed almost constant in the background, Mycroft knew that John had forced the detective to pick up the phone. The doctor had then taken the phone and gave his own wishes to the government official.

None of this had mattered much to him, though. All he could focus on all day had been this evening. And now that it has nearly arrived, Mycroft is overcome with anticipation. Once he is satisfied with the tablecloth, candles, flowers and dishes; he hurries off to the bathroom to freshen up one last time.

Staring intently at his reflection, Mycroft adjusts his collar and puts a few stray hairs back in place. He applies his favorite cologne and gives himself a shaky smile. "Stop worrying," he says. "You can do this. Everything will be perfect."

At that moment, his phone chimes from the vanity beside him. Mycroft takes it to read the text, and his face splits into a wide grin. It is time; his love has arrived. He checks his reflection one final time before departing for the dining room.

Anthea stands there expectantly. She is dressed in a lovely black gown, just for the occasion, and her already gorgeous hair is styled to reflect absolute beauty. She smiles at her boss. "Good evening, sir."

Mycroft returns the smile. "Thank you for coming." He gives her hand a squeeze and hopes that she doesn't notice the slight tremble. He is absolutely overflowing with excitement and love. "Please, have a seat. Shall we eat? I hope you enjoy duck."

Mycroft takes his position at the head of the table while Anthea sits in the available spot to his right. They tuck in eagerly; the meal is delicious. Mycroft bring forth a bottle of wine. "Finest in England," he brags as he pours each of them a glass. "The best money and my name can buy."

Anthea grins again. She takes the glass with delicate fingers, unusually still now that they aren't flying across a mobile's keyboard. "What shall we toast to?"

Mycroft's gaze softens to pools of honey. "To love." They drink happily, and finish their food.

The pair spends the rest of the evening chatting contentedly over wine. They cover everything from the weather to work to family. Anthea can't help but notice that this is the most joyful she has seen Mycroft in a long time, and that makes her beam all the more.

"Anthea?" Mycroft ventures after a minute of silence between the two. He looks up at her from where his fingers have been twirling absently around the rim of his glass.

The corners of his assistant's lips curl up and her gentle eyes alight expectantly. "Sir?"

Mycroft hesitates as his nerves suddenly return to him like a punch to the gut. He takes a shuddering breath to steady himself and rests his elbows on the table, fingers coming together in a prayer-like pose. "Anthea, do think it is time to take things further? It is getting rather late."

Anthea's dark eyes widen, but she breaks into a cheerful grin. "Of course, sir. I'll be right back."

Mycroft watches her dress swish around her knees as she retreats. He frowns and shifts a bit; he has never been a man to become anxious over anything. Never. Not even when Sherlock had OD'd. Mycroft had been able to hold it together and deal with that in a professional and calm manner, so why can't he do this?

'_Because this is different,'_ Mycroft thinks angrily. He wants everything to be perfect, to not make a single mistake. The last thing he wants to come from tonight is disappointment.

Mycroft closes his eyes, mentally preparing himself. He suddenly finds himself with images flashing behind his eyelids. That dark flush over pale cream. Those sexy curves and angles. The sweet taste of his lips on her, his tongue exploring every centimeter. He finds himself smiling at what is to come, just as the clicking of heels announces Anthea's return.

He opens his bright eyes to see his assistant with a wide smile on her lips. She locks her gaze with his in a knowing exchange, and he feels all of his nerves vanish to the shadows. But it is what she holds in her arms that most intrigues him; a small, silver covered platter.

Anthea leans over his shoulder to place it directly in front of him, and she slides a fork into his clammy hand. Her lips, red with lipstick and still smiling, gently brush his ear as she whispers, "happy birthday, Mycroft." Then she leaves in a swirl of dark fabric and tapping thumbs on her Blackberry.

Mycroft hardly notices her departure, as he is now slowly removing the cover on the platter. His breath hitches in his throat at the sight that greets him.

She is beautiful; a perfect slice of pale vanilla, clothed in a thick chocolate icing. A streak of red reveals her strawberry filling, and she is accessorized with a single mint leaf.

Mycroft's face softens with love and adoration. _This_ is the moment he has so anticipated; the reunion of him and his one true love. Just the two of them at the table under the candlelight, alone.

He pinches the mint leaf between his left forefinger and thumb, studying it delicately in the low light before placing it on his tongue. He allows his eyes so slide closed as he chews and allows his mouth to fill with its sweet bite. A smile plays at his lips, and Mycroft peers happily down at the rest of the cake. Slowly and carefully, Mycroft slides the fork into the soft flesh of his love. He feels his heart skip a beat as he raises the fork up, holding it delicately and with the touch of a lover. He pauses, the tip of the fork just at his lips.

"At last, my love," Mycroft murmurs, before allowing his little bite of heaven to enter his mouth.

His tongue is immediately hit with a symphony of taste and bliss, and his eyelashes flutter in pleasure as he dissects the morsel of his love. Mycroft swallows and takes another forkful into his mouth. Each bite is different and satisfying in its own way, and he even finds a soft moan escaping him every once in a while. The conflicting flavors all seem to come together in a most gratifying combination on Mycroft's taste buds. Vanilla provides a wonderfully simple yet pleasing base line. Chocolate dances gracefully and seductively, leaving his mind swirling and his mouth aching for more. Strawberry hits him like an unexpected, passionate kiss. Together, they are the perfect mixture of flavor and send Mycroft's heart into a frenzy of love and desire.

All too soon, it seems, Mycroft is left gazing sadly down at the last bite on his fork. His tongue swipes over his lips, wetting them briefly before placing a gentle kiss to his love. He savors it slowly, taking his time to say his goodbyes to each layer of bliss. He swallows and flicks his tongue around his mouth one last time. A heavy sigh flows from his lips, and he leans back in his chair, content.

Mycroft allows his eyes to slide shut, and he silently replays the experience in his mind. A happy smile finds home on his lips as he absently rubs his stomach. A soft chuckle drifts into the still atmosphere. "Until next year, my love."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I don't know what possesed me to write that. I just know the idea hit me, and I decided to run with it. Wow. I'm just going to go hang my head in shame or something, or maybe I'll just bask in my own strangeness. Yeah, good plan. Good plan. Well, anyway, I hope you enjoyed that. I'll just stop rambling now and go question my sanity.**


End file.
